“By the way, what’s your name?” said Clutton, as they took their seats.
“Carey.”
“Allow me to introduce an old and trusted friend, Carey by name,” said Clutton gravely. “Mr. Flanagan, Mr. Lawson.”
They laughed and went on with their conversation. They talked of a thousand things, and they all talked at once. No one paid the smallest attention to anyone else. They talked of the places they had been to in the summer, of studios, of the various schools; they mentioned names which were unfamiliar to Philip, Monet, Manet, Renoir, Pissarro, Degas. Philip listened with all his ears, and though he felt a little out of it, his heart leaped with exultation. The time flew. When Clutton got up he said: